Descent
by Jem Kallop
Summary: Marik is fed up of his life in the Palace, trapped in a destiny he never wanted, watched by the Court with no hope of escape. That is, until he meets a certain Thief King in the desert. Working together, is it possible for them to truly defeat Pharaoh Atem, and take Egypt for their own? Companion piece to my oneshot 'Uprise', but this one is chaptered. XD
1. Chapter 1

**So, this is the companion piece to my oneshot 'Uprise', which was based on the prompt 'Uprise, Usurp, Sword,' originally sent by Caelyn-Forever. However, I have tried to make it so that you can read this one without reading that one first, although it will probably still make a little more sense if you read both. Shameless plugging. Yeah. ^_^**

**This is citronshipping, with very slight mentions of blindshipping and Isis/Seto (not sure what that one's called). It's set in Ancient Egypt, but it isn't historically accurate. At all. ^_^ It was originally going to be a oneshot, but it would have been far too long. As it stands at the moment, I have no clue how long it will be, but I have a definite ending; you just have to read 'Uprise' to know that. I am aiming at updating this once a week, probably on Saturdays, but it might conceivably be earlier than that depending on what else I am writing. XD Enjoy! – Jem**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh**

Marik Ishtar wanted to scream.

This part of the Palace was empty and silent, just as it always was and just where Isis liked to keep him. Marik strode about the chamber with his hands clenched into stern fists by his side, his white tomb-keeper robes snapping around his ankles – a constant reminder of the destiny that he could not escape. Marik was destined to keep the tomb of the Pharaoh, and once Atem had died, Marik would be expected to spend the rest of his life underground to tend to him. It was a destiny he refused to accept, and a destiny that would not let him be. His descendents would forever be forced into a life underground, and there was absolutely nothing Marik could do to rebel.

He tried, though.

Marik's sister Isis' position as one of the holders of the seven Millennium Items more or less assured his safety within the Palace, as much as Marik may loathe his life here. He was clever, though, and he knew how to get around the Council and cause trouble in the Pharaoh's own court. He had made no secret of his distaste for the courtiers, and he could tell from Atem's tired eyes that he saw Marik merely as a hindrance; a constant thorn in his side. This was exactly what Marik strove to achieve.

It only took a few minutes for Isis to join him in their private chambers, her eyes flashing with anger and her black hair hidden beneath a pure white hood. She strode straight up to him and stared him down – they were matched in height, but Marik was still growing. He looked forward to the day he would finally be able to look down on Isis.

"Marik, this has to stop," She hissed, her tone vehement. That was another thing he hated about her; she always spoke to him like he was a child. "I can't have you acting like this in front of the Pharaoh!"

Marik bristled instantly at that, his response automatic and venomous. "Oh, I'm so sorry that I've been embarrassing you in front of your _equals._ What's a lowly tombkeeper to do in the presence of royalty, after all?"

"You know I don't mean it like that," she admonished. "You are not doing yourself any favours by angering the courtiers, least of all the members of the Council. I foresee danger for you, Marik – your path is twisted and confused. I can't make it out."

Despite himself, Marik eyed her Necklace with trepidation. The Shadow Magic of the Items was not to be taken lightly, he knew that well enough, but it would not lead him to accept his destiny; something in his spirit instantly rebelled at the thought of being trapped underground.

"Marik," Isis continued, "Promise me you will take care. You mustn't be so outspoken in the court – the Council are already beginning to take notice of you . . ."

"By 'Council' you mean Seto, right?" Marik drawled, a malicious grin twisting his lips. "What, has he cut you off because you've got an irritating little brother?"

Isis flinched at his words, backing away a step with fury searing her eyes. "You do not know of what you speak."

"Oh, I know enough, sister," Marik spat. "Just because you've got all cosy with the courtiers doesn't mean that _I_ need to. You know as well as I do that I cannot accept this destiny – I cannot, and I will not, and I never will. The sooner the lot of you understand that, the better."

Isis's dark skin turned white at his words, and her fingertips drifted straight to the gold that glinted at her neck. Marik scoffed, whirling away and interrupting her before she could speak. "Don't give me any of your mystic crap either. The future of the Necklace is not set in stone."

"Your path is dark, Marik," she hissed, her azure eyes dimming. "Turn back, before it is too late."

Marik growled, his eyes hard as he stepped around his sister. "Forget it. I stopped listening to you years ago, and I've survived just fine on my own. I don't need you, Seto, the Pharaoh, or any of the courtiers. Now get out of my way – I'm going out."

"You are not," Isis contradicted, her tone low.

Marik merely sent her a disparaging glare before turning and exiting the chamber, his white robes flaring around his ankles as he went.

...

The sand was familiar and comforting under Marik's bare feet as he paced angrily around the desert. Warmed by the glare of the midday sun, the entire desert was sparkling, the dunes rising elegantly in a smooth flow, the air absolutely still and the rays beating down through the cloudless, open sky. Marik climbed a dune slowly, his head thrown back and his eyes shut as he drank in the heat of the sun, feeling it shimmer against his skin and dance across the lids of his eyes, his jewellery almost uncomfortably hot under its beautiful glare. His sandals swung from his hand, bare toes digging into the sand as he finally crested the top of the dune, his eyes sliding open and blinking in the bright light. He flopped down, collapsing onto his back and allowing the warm rays to caress his skin, doing his best to keep his mind away from Isis, Seto, the Pharaoh, and anything else to with the Palace and his unwanted destiny.

"Well, someone looks rather comfortable."

Marik froze, his muscles clenching and holding him tightly against the sand. It scorched his back, but he held still.

There was a dark laugh from somewhere behind him. "You look frightened, Palace scum."

_That_ struck a nerve. Marik shot upright instantly, his feet under him before he remembered ordering them to move, although something made him stay facing forwards rather than turning towards the voice. Instead, he hissed into the empty air, "Presuming things about people you don't know is very foolish, idiot."

"It is also foolish to call someone you haven't seen yet an idiot." The voice was almost purring now. "I can see for myself that you are Palace scum – your clothing gives you away a mile off."

Marik could feel himself bristling, but he was used to keeping a tight hold of his emotions from his many days spent in the court of the Pharaoh. Instead of showing his anger, he allowed a smirk to tug at one corner of his mouth, his tone arrogant and full of spite as he spoke. "And you? By your accent, I can tell you are some lowly desert dog. Would you presume to judge me?"

There was a heavy silence and Marik chuckled, sure that he had gained the upper hand. He bent down, slipping his sandals back onto his feet, but when he straightened up a low voice muttered silkily, directly into his ear. "And who are you to judge me as some _lowly desert dog?"_

Marik almost leapt out of his skin. He was more than a little ashamed of his body's reactions – his pulse raced, his heart jumping in his throat as his sweat-slicked palms gripped onto his long white robes. He swallowed once, carefully, stiffening when he felt a blade at his back.

A low chuckle in his ear. "Not so brave now, hm?"

"Careful," Marik hissed, his hands curling into fists at his side. The blade was still pressing into his back, but it was low – if he twisted, it should skim off him and allow him to be out of this desert cur's grip. Inhaling once, twice, Marik steadied himself, his feet firmly gripping the sand through his thin soles. Three – two – one – _move._

Within seconds Marik had twisted, darting out of range of the knife and spinning around to face his attacker, white robes snapping – except . . .

No one was there.

Marik instinctively dropped into a crouch, moving in a slow circle across the desert sand, his eyes flicking back and forth. That low, dark chuckle sounded again, from somewhere to his right this time. "Ah, poor little Palace scum, trapped out in the desert all alone. You wandered just a little too far this time. Even the Pharaoh himself could not save you now."

At that, Marik spat, fury suddenly rising in his gut at being taunted as if he was nothing – as if he was one of the courtiers. He would never, ever sink as low as _that._ "Good," Marik hissed, voice rippling through the dry air. "Good. I don't want to be rescued by the Pharaoh. If I ever see that man again, it would be too soon. Go ahead, desert dog – kill me. I would rather die under the sun than spend the rest of my life underground."

There was a weighty silence, and Marik prided himself on the almost surprised tinge to the tension in the air. That was, until that deep shadowy voice sounded once again, and somehow it was now coming from his left. "Ah, the Palace scum bites. And rebels, perhaps – well, maybe I should keep you. You could prove useful."

"Fool," Marik hissed, his jaw clenching. "If you think I'm just going to become a slave to some desert rat, then –"

"I don't recall ever asking," sounded the stern reply, although Marik thought a hint of amusement was still just discernible in the tone of that dark voice. Chills scooted down Marik's spine at his next words. "You will work for me, and you will enjoy it. That, I can promise you."

"As if," hissed Marik, his back shooting up as he straightened once more, piercing his surroundings with a sharp gaze but still unable to see the person he was conversing with.

"Please." Amusement was certainly back in that dark tone now. "From what you said, it sounds as if there is no love lost between yourself and the Pharaoh. Tell me your story, and I will show you my face. Then you will want to work with me, I assure you."

Marik scoffed at the arrogance in the voice, his brows furrowing. He turned in a slow circle, scanning his surroundings with a piercing gaze, but there was no sign of life amongst the deathly silent desert. Marik kept his voice stern as he spoke. "Why would I want to work with some pathetic desert rat?"

"I warned you to watch your words." The dark voice was suddenly right in Marik's ear. With a gasp Marik jerked forwards, but an arm encircled his waist, trapping his hands by his sides. Marik strained in the strong grip, his head thrusting forwards until something wickedly sharp dug into the crook of his neck. Marik froze, his eyes flicking as far as they could as he tried to catch a glimpse of his captor. He had no luck, though – he was held fast, the knife at his neck effectively halting all his struggles.

"Well, well," the voice murmured, causing Marik to flinch when lips brushed the shell of his ear. "You are an interesting catch indeed. From the Palace, but with such strong hatred for the Pharaoh . . . you must be a rare breed indeed."

"It isn't any business of yours," Marik hissed, furious at being captured so easily. "Get your filthy hands off me."

A snort ruffled Marik's golden hair. "What, does the Palace scum not want to be touched by a dirty thief?"

"You're a thief?" Marik stilled of his own accord this time, his muscles instantly tensing. Thieves and bandits were notorious in the desert outside the city, tales of lost travellers and stolen goods becoming an all-too-common occurence in the markets. It was advised that no one enter the desert on their own, but Marik had never paid too much heed to the rumours, dismissing them as scare-mongering from the Pharaoh in order to subdue his subjects and dissuade them from leaving. He had paid absolutely no mind in coming out here all on his own, unguarded and defenceless, and now it would seem he was paying the price.

A low chuckle fluttered across Marik's cheek. "Indeed I am. Are you finally beginning to take your situation seriously?"

Marik drew in a breath. His jaw set, Marik planted his feet more firmly into the ground and attempted to free his arms, only resulting in the thief tightening his grip around Marik's waist. The blade dug further into Marik's neck, forcing his head sideways as the man hissed, "None of that. Talk to me, Palace scum. Tell me your story, and we will come to an agreement. I can always use people like you."

"Like hell," Marik spat. "What the hell could I possibly get from the likes of you?"

A low growl ghosted across Marik's skin, sending electrifying tingles through his veins. Marik could feel heat at the back of his neck as the thief leaned closer, his chin resting on Marik's shoulder. If the knife hadn't been preventing Marik from moving, he could have turned and seen the thief's face; they were mere centimetres apart. It was tantalising.

"The _likes of me_," hissed that dark voice, "Will bring down the Pharaoh."

And just like that, the knife was gone and Marik was free. He span around, kicking up whirlpools of sand in his haste, but the desert was as empty as it had appeared to be before. Cursing under his breath, Marik scrutinised every inch of empty sand, but there was no sign of movement in any direction. There weren't even any footprints where he _knew_ the thief had been standing. Still, judging by the stealth with which the thief had executed his every move so far, Marik did not doubt that he was still somewhere in the vicinity. Licking his parched lips, Marik swallowed before speaking, pleased that his voice sounded as clear as always. "You, bring down the Pharaoh? Do you honestly think you are capable of that?"

Sure enough, that dark voice echoed once more across the empty sand, the sky a brilliant azure above them. "Tell me your story, and you will find out."

"Why?" Marik's tone turned belligerent. "I am not in the habit of taking orders from lowly thieves."

A chuckle reverberated through the burning air. "That will change with time. I think that you would be interested in bringing down the Pharaoh – am I right?"

Marik stayed silent, his lips drawn into a thin line. In truth, there was nothing he sought more than the downfall of the Pharaoh; Marik would no longer be bound to his tombkeeper vows, and he would be free to roam where he wished. However, if Atem fell then his court fell with him, and that meant the loss of all the Millennium Items. Seto Marik couldn't care less about, but Isis . . . Marik wasn't sure he was ready to turn his back on the only family he had ever known.

Although, hadn't she turned her back on him? She was the reason he was out here in this situation in the first place – if she accepted his right to do as he pleased, then Marik's life would be bearable. As it was, he did not wish to return to the Palace. He _could not_ return to the Palace as it was now.

Marik had made a decision.

"Alright, thief," Marik called to the empty sand. "I'll make a pact with you. I will tell you my story if you will help me bring down the Pharaoh. But if you are lying to me, I swear I will make you pay."

A raspy laugh echoed in Marik's ears. "Start talking, then, Palace scum."

"I'd rather see the person I'm talking to," Marik seethed. "And I am not one of the Palace whores you seem to think I am."

"You'll see my face soon enough. Start talking." The tone was turning dangerous, and Marik felt goosebumps rising on his arms despite the heat. He would do well to remember that he was in the presence of a thief.

Marik cast one more searching glance over the apparently empty stretches of the desert, his sharp eyes narrowed; not one speck of sand was out of place. So, speaking to the empty air, Marik slowly sank down until he was seated cross-legged. "My story is a long one, thief, so I suggest you make yourself comfortable."

"You need not worry about that, I assure you."

Marik shivered once again as that voice sent sparkles down his spine. Drawing in a deep breath, Marik linked his fingers in his lap and played with the edges of his long white robe, his eyes clouding slightly as he thought over where to begin. "I suppose my story starts in the markets, long ago. I was a child, living with just my sister – my mother died when I was born, and my father followed not long after. My family had always kept a stall in the markets, selling fine cloth, but after the deaths of my parents it became too much for us to keep. My sister did all she could, but in the end we had to abandon it. We were turned out onto the streets with little hope of survival – that is, until the day the magicians arrived in our square. Mahad was leading a hunt for new magic-holders, and he tested everyone in the vicinity. It turned out that both my sister and I held great potential, and so he took us under his wing and swore to teach us the secrets of magic. We were just grateful that we had a full meal in our stomachs and a sheltered place to sleep at night . . .

"Mahad took us into the city, where we entered the school. At first, everything appeared wonderful – we had enough freedom to roam the streets as we wished, and our classes were fascinating. Being of magic brought us instantly into Egypt's elite, despite our less-than-noble backgrounds, and we were happy. Years passed, and we grew up, and it seemed that my sister and I would live a long and happy life together. But then . . ."

Here Marik trailed off, his fingers bunching the hem of his robes into tightly knotted clots. His gaze had hardened, a frown marring his smooth brow as he stared at the sand by his feet. "Then, Isis got chosen. The Millennium Items arrived in the court, and she was chosen to be the bearer of the Necklace. She abandoned me to enter the Pharaoh's court – my own sister! Of course, she had Seto whispering down her ear at every opportunity, and she's so _enraptured_ by him, because he thinks she's _so_ special, and she can't see that he's only after her because she makes it so easy for him . . ." Marik's lips twisted in spite as he thought of his sister. She had become everything he had always despised about the Pharaoh's Court. "Isis wholly accepted the Palace, along with everything it stands for, and she left me behind to fend for myself. I wasn't out of the school yet, and my schedule was increasing to the point that I wouldn't be able to see her once she was taken into the Palace. I was furious with her, but I still missed her. And it still hurt, that she could abandon me so easily.

"Anyway, not long after she had been initiated into the Council, she went to the Pharaoh and spoke with him about me. I didn't know – I was sat in my chambers one night when there was a knock at the door, and I opened it to find Isis and Atem waiting for me. Needless to say, I was a little surprised." Marik could feel a smile tug at his lips, his tone dry. "Atem heard of our plight, and he offered me a compromise. He said I couldn't become a member of his Council because I hadn't been chosen, but I _could_ be initiated to serve him once he passed into the afterlife, if I so wished. I could become his tombkeeper, and then I would gain all the rights of any other of his courtiers. I wouldn't have to leave Isis – my family could be whole once more. I didn't need to be asked twice. A life without Isis was not one I was looking forward to, and I believed that Atem was offering me a way out. I gladly accepted.

"I didn't realise just what was being asked of me, though," Marik scowled down at his feet, his head bent impossibly far forwards. "I agreed before I understood. As the Pharaoh's tombkeeper, I am granted all the luxuries in this life, but as soon as Atem passes, I am expected to pass underground and remain there for the rest of my life, guarding his tomb against robbers. Worse still, I am also expected to marry and procreate, and then I must condemn my descendents to a life underground for evermore. But worst of all is the initiation process itself . . ." Marik winced, his features tumbling in on themselves as he remembered. "It was three years ago that I first became a tombkeeper – I was thirteen. Once I agreed to Atem, he and Isis led me out of the school and in through the Palace gates. I was overwhelmed, of course, but quickly became less so when the guards grabbed me and dragged me through to a back room. I was tied down to a stone tablet, my back was exposed, and the secret of the Pharaohs was carved into my skin." Marik spoke quickly, the words tumbling out in a harsh rush. The knots in his robe sprung free as his hands dug into the sand on either side of his knees.

Silence filled the desert, and Marik realised that there was a strong chance he was talking to empty space. But still, it felt good to lay everything out, bare; it helped him to stay strong, to realise just how badly he had been tricked, just how much Atem deserved to be taken down. So Marik continued, his voice harsh. "Once I was initiated, everything got worse. Isis was kept busy with the Council, so I hardly ever saw her, and my only job in the Palace was to wait for Atem to die. I was bored and given nothing to occupy my time with, so I began to conduct research into some of the affairs of the Palace, which is about when I started to realise just how corrupt the system is. Those Palace _scum_ are all robbing each other blind, and the country is suffering. Atem doesn't understand half of what goes on inside his walls, and his ignorance is astounding. He needs to fall, and so does the court. Egypt will pay the price otherwise."

Silence reigned over the desert as Marik's voice faded. He sat there for a while, dejection washing over him as he realised he wasn't getting a response; he should have expected as much. No one really wanted to help him, and the desert was empty. Marik drew his knees into his chest slowly, curling in on himself, bitterly thinking that he had probably invented that thief from his own inner longing – after all, there was no evidence that anyone else had been here. Marik so desperately wanted someone to help him escape his impossible, horrid situation, but he was going to have to come to terms with the fact that he was on his own. He was always alone. Marik dropped his head onto his knees, squeezing his eyes tight shut; it had been a fantasy, and now it was time to go home.

"Well. That is quite a story."

Marik's head instantly shot up. It was the same voice, that dark tone was completely unmistakeable, and it sounded from directly behind him. Marik jumped to his feet, instantly on his guard despite the wave of relief that washed through his veins. "Thief? Is that you?"

"Of course it's me. Who else?" There was a raspy chuckle, although it was tinged with something close to anger. Marik shivered. "I require one more thing before I will be satisfied – tell me your name."

Marik made to turn around, but the voice cut in sharply. "No, don't move. I will reveal myself when I am ready. Tell me your name."

The skin around Marik's eyes crinkled as he bristled at the restriction. "I want to see who the fuck I'm talking to first. Are you even real? I could have just dreamed you up . . ."

"It would be a nightmare," the dark voice chuckled. "And I am most certainly real, as you will see once you've _told me your name."_

Marik couldn't hold back a grin at the irritation showing through the tone. "I am Marik Ishtar. Who are you?"

Silence fell again, for long enough that Marik started to fear that he really had been talking to an imagined shadow, when hands suddenly fell on Marik's shoulders and that voice laughed from directly behind him, "Oh, I think you'll recognise me."

The hands on Marik's shoulders span him around, holding him fast as Marik blinked, running his eyes over the form before him. Red was the first impression to hit him – a red as rich as any of the cloths he saw in the Palace, billowing around a tall, tanned form. A bare chest was open to Marik, the wide waist covered in a swaddle of purple cloth, broad shoulders leading up to an arrogantly lifted chin. Marik tilted his head up to meet a grey gaze full of mirth, set in a darkly tanned face with strong features, the lips twisted into a confident smirk. A shock of hair flared around his head, falling messily to his shoulders, and when Marik saw the colour his jaw dropped.

White.

There was only one thief with white hair, and suddenly everything made sense.

With a shriek, Marik pulled himself free of the tall man's grip, kicking up huge bouts of sand as he tore away, running as fast as he could back towards the city. He didn't think, panic rising from his gut as he raced across the sand, tripping over his sandals in his haste. He almost screamed when he heard a low chuckle behind him, increasing his pace desperately. It was pointless. After fewer than three steps, Marik felt a weight crash into his back, sending him tumbling into the sand. Marik thrashed as soon as he was on the ground, fighting to get back to his feet. The weight on top of him was incredibly heavy, warmth residing all along his back and right down to his legs, trapping him firmly. Marik froze when he felt breath tickle his neck, his skin crawling. He thrashed once more.

The thief pinned him effectively, a low growl escaping his throat. "Gods, why do they always try to run? You will never be able to escape me."

Shivers racked down Marik's spine at those words, his body falling utterly still. He was in a lot of danger here, if this thief truly was who he thought. Marik swallowed, working enough moisture into his mouth to allow the word to drop between his lips; the word that would change his life forever. "Bakura."

A dark chuckle ghosted across his skin, and the weight on Marik's back shifted as the thief sat up. Marik gasped when the thief lifted himself up a little, grasping Marik's shoulders and flipping him over so that he lay on his back. The thief settled on Marik's stomach, catching the arms that were flung at him and pinning them above Marik's head, smirking down at him. "I would prefer to be called Thief King from you."

Marik stopped breathing.

He was in serious trouble. Bakura was the most notorious thief of this age; rumour said he had been ransacking the tombs around the city for years, robbing them blind with no mind to the laws of respect and decency. He also stole from the markets and the merchants, killing without mercy whenever someone got in his way. He was said to have a deep, intense hatred for the Palace and all that stood within its walls, which led Marik to wonder precisely why he was still alive. Bakura had spotted him as Palace scum from the moment he first spoke, after all; by rights, Marik should be a rotting carcass under the sun by now. But here he was, still breathing, trapped beneath the most terrifying man in the whole of Egypt.

Marik cursed under his breath.

Bakura's smirk grew into a jagged grin, and for the first time Marik noticed the strangely discoloured scar stretching down from his right eye. He swallowed. Everything about the thief bespoke fear and terror, a wild life out among the stars, and absolutely no hope of survival. Thinking that, Marik instantly started fighting again, bucking underneath Bakura as he struggled to free himself. Bakura merely leaned forwards lazily, his hands gripping Marik's wrists, his hips clashing against Marik's as he pushed him down into the sand. Marik arched his back, trying to pull away from the ground but Bakura slammed him back down, growling in the back of his throat. "Stop struggling, Marik Ishtar. I want to work with you, remember? At this point it would serve me no purpose to kill you."

Marik instantly froze, his heart beating far too fast. Blood pounded through his skull as he gazed up at Bakura, his body going slack under him. "Why the hell am I still alive?"

"I meant what I said," Bakura commented calmly, and now that Marik could see his face that dark voice was somehow less threatening. "I wish to bring down the Pharaoh, and from the sounds of things you are a valuable source of information."

Marik remained silent, thinking that over with pursed lips. Yes, he wanted to bring down the Pharaoh, but was teaming up with the Thief King really a wise course of action? Marik had heard the stories as much as anyone else in the city – Bakura was not someone you could trust. He was a dangerous cutthroat, the worst of the Pharaoh's enemies.

He could be just exactly what Marik needed.

With a thoughtful frown, Marik moved to free himself again, although this time his motions were calm and calculated instead of fuelled by blind panic. Noticing the change, Bakura released him and sat back on the sand, his cloak falling down his shoulders as he leaned back on his hands. Marik slowly drew his knees into his chest, running his eyes down the thief's form again; he was extremely well-built, his whole appearance not one that was easily forgettable. Marik fixated on the scar under his eye, wondering just what had happened to give him that, and how much pain it had caused. Marik shuddered when he remembered the terrible rips and shreds that marred his own back.

Bakura lifted a brow quizzically, his chin tilted arrogantly as Marik stared at him. Narrowing his gaze, Marik asked bluntly, "What are you doing so close to the city? Last the Palace heard, you were miles away."

Bakura shrugged, smirk tugging at one corner of his lips. "I move quickly, and I make a point of staying ahead of you Palace scum."

"I am not one of them," Marik hissed. "If you were truly listening to me earlier, you would know that."

Bakura's smirk widened. "Oh, I was listening alright. You have such a pampered life, I can't quite see why you would want to leave it. All your petty squabbles – arguing with your sister, complaining to the Pharaoh, they're all so _whiny._"

"You haven't got a fucking clue what you're talking about," Marik growled, his fingers curling into tight fists as he glared at the thief.

Bakura grinned. "Oh, really? Enlighten me. Give me one legitimate grievance. Have you ever gone to bed hungry for three weeks straight? Walked for days just to find a source of clean water? Had to fend for yourself in the desert, with no way of knowing how far away your next meal would be?"

Marik swallowed, catching his bottom lip between his teeth as he met Bakura's bubbling gaze. "I knew those things as a child, yes."

"Oh, I'm sure." Bakura's voice turned faux-sympathetic, his brows lowering. "And how many years ago was that? How long have you been living your wonderfully easy life, hm?"

"You call this easy?" Marik all but roared, coiling tight in on himself. "I'd like to see you try it! Have your back cut open so that the scars will never heal, and then be forced to live within the same walls all your life, or at least all the _Pharaoh's_ life, because when he dies you don't finally get freedom, no, you get to be fucking _buried with him!_ Only you have to stay alive down there. You don't get the freedom of death." Marik was breathing heavily, tearing his gaze away from Bakura with a snarl, looking out to the far-off horizon instead. All his muscles were tensed, but he didn't want to relax. He couldn't; not in front of the Thief King.

Silence held for a moment before Bakura chuckled, low in his throat. "Oh, yes, you'll do very nicely. I will most certainly have to keep you."

Marik whirled back to face him, all the lines in his face furrowed and contorted, making him seem far older than his years. "The fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"It means, Ishtar, that you are mine now." Bakura tilted his head, arrogant smirk pulling at his lips.

Marik growled. "The fuck I am. I agreed to work _with_ you, not _for_ you, Bakura."

"And work with me you shall." Bakura grinned, flashing sharp white teeth. "Oh, you are going to be invaluable."

Marik frowned heavily, his toes digging into the sand. "How so?"

"Oh come on , do I have to spell everything out for you?" Bakura shook his head, his lips twisted into a smirk. "You have access to the Pharaoh. You know him _personally._ Do your research – you have all the Palace archives at your fingertips. You can give me access to his security, his routine, the positions of his guards. You can tell me _everything._ With your information, I will be unstoppable."

Marik's eyes widened, his head shooting up to stare straight at the Thief King. "You . . . you want me to spy on the Pharaoh?!"

"Well, of course." Bakura's tone dripped sarcasm. "What did you think we were discussing here?"

Marik shook his head, his mind whirring as all the cogs clicked together. Spying for the Thief King would be extremely dangerous – if Seto or Isis, or Gods forbid Atem himself, caught on to what he was doing, then Marik had no doubt that he would be facing the death penalty. But if it worked, and he got Bakura the information he needed, then they really could destroy the Palace. And then Marik would be free for good . . .

Meeting Bakura's eyes, Marik sent him a smirk of his own. "That's all well and good, but what will the great and mighty _Thief King_ be doing whilst I'm spying on the Palace?"

"Watch your tongue, Ishtar." Bakura's wide grin softened the threat. "I will be busy enough collecting allies. I am not so foolish as to think that I can take the Palace by myself, even with your help; we will need armed warriors on our side."

Marik nodded slowly, thinking everything over again. This plan could really work – if Bakura was right, and he could effectively build them an army, then Marik could finally be free of his unwanted life in the Palace. The thought of his sister brought Marik a slight stab, but she had made her choice long ago, when she had accepted a place in the Court of the Pharaoh. In a way, this was all her fault; she shouldn't be too surprised at Marik's betrayal. Not that she would find out, as Marik would have to play a dangerous double game amongst the Palace walls. Flicking another glance to Bakura, Marik knew it was worth it.

Bakura smirked, catching and holding Marik's gaze. He extended one dark hand, his red sleeve riding up his arm as he tilted his head. "So, do we have a deal, Marik?"

Marik looked at the hand, then at Bakura, then back at the hand. With a grin he took it, crushing Bakura's fingers in a strong grip as he smirked up at the thief. "Indeed we do, Bakura."

**That's the first chapter! I would love to know what you think so far. I shall be back with an update soon, probably on Saturday. XD Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed! - Jem**


	2. Chapter 2

**Here is your update, finally! I would have liked this to be out yesterday, but unfortunately my health was pretty bad, so it is here today instead. I will be updating it every Sunday from now on (and that's a promise you can hold me to)! ^_^ I would just like to reiterate that this fic will not be historically accurate, as I don't know much about how Ancient Egyptian society works. I have tried to be accurate where I can, but that isn't often. XD By the way, this fic is rated M for a reason – this chapter gets rather graphic. You have been warned. I hope you enjoy, and thanks to everyone reading/reviewing so far! - Jem**

Marik entered the Palace halls with determined steps, his white robes snapping around his ankles as he made his way to his private chambers. In the time it had taken him to get back here from the desert the sun had sunk behind the horizon, sending brilliant streaks of orange and red through the clear navy sky, stars soon appearing to dot the atmosphere with the stories of long-lost Gods. Marik had paid them little heed, his mind full of Bakura and his new situation. Hope burned in Marik's gut for the first time in years; finally, he felt like he was in control of his destiny once more. It was time to stop following what everyone else wanted of him and start making a life for himself.

Entering the Ishtar chambers, Marik was hardly surprised when Seto was there with his sister. Rolling his eyes, Marik made to stalk straight passed them and into his own bedroom, but Seto threw out a hand to effectively stop him in his tracks. Marik snorted, folding his arms and tilting his chin arrogantly, sending Seto an insolent stare. "What is it now, idiot?"

"Show some respect," Seto hissed, taking a threatening step towards Marik. "Or perhaps you do not even understand the meaning of that word, insolent brat that you are."

Marik almost wanted to laugh. Compared to Bakura's overwhelmingly threateningly presence, Seto may as well have been a rat advancing on him. Marik showed as much in his confident smirk, tipping his chin up arrogantly. "I don't take orders from you, _Seto._"

"Then listen to me," Isis spoke commandingly, stepping around Seto and fixing Marik with a stern sapphire glare. "You are becoming too outspoken. Atem will not stand for it much longer, and I won't always be able to protect you, Marik. You have got to start accepting your position here."

"I am fully aware of my _position,"_ Marik spat. "And I don't need constant reminding of it. Now the both of you leave me alone – I'm tired, and I'm going to bed." Without a second glance, Marik turned on his heel and stalked straight into his bedroom, pointedly slamming the door behind him.

Ignoring the whispers from the other chamber, Marik turned to his own room, releasing a long sigh. His bed was luxurious, covered in silken sheets and mounted high with feathered pillows, covered with an expansive canopy. Living in the Palace did have its perks, after all. Feeling the tension of the day leaking out of his muscles, Marik stripped himself of his robes and clambered between his sheets, relaxing back against the pillows and gratefully allowing his eyes to slide shut.

His thoughts instantly turned to Bakura.

Remembering the moment he had first caught sight of the dangerous thief, Marik felt shivers roll down his spine. There was absolutely no doubt that the Thief King was dangerous; his wicked smirk spoke volumes, the gleam in his devilish grey eyes enough to make Marik's heart race even as he lay under the covers. Marik rolled onto his side, curling into a ball as he thought back over the day's events. A large part of him still struggled to believe that it had really been Bakura, in the flesh, who had accosted him in the desert. Remembering the fire of his body and the strength of his hands sent sharp spikes of heat dripping through Marik's veins, his throat constricting. It was truly a miracle that he had made it out alive. Bakura was notoriously ruthless. He let nothing and no one stand in his way, mercilessly robbing both tombs and traders alike, moving so quickly through the desert that no one could catch him. He was elusive as a storm, and just as deadly.

Marik sighed, rolling between his soft, silken sheets with an unpleasant fluttering in his stomach. Bakura had promised to meet him again tomorrow, although he wouldn't tell Marik how; he was as mysterious as ever, his grey eyes laughing as he watched Marik head back to the Palace. Marik knew that he would be busy the next day, though, as he was to start gathering information on the way the Palace was guarded without arousing suspicion. He was going to have to be very careful.

Tired in both body and mind, it didn't take long for Marik to slip into the vestiges of sleep, his dreams centred on sand and the Pharaoh and guards and a long, sand-encrusted red cloak, accompanied by a pair of laughing grey eyes. It was a long night.

...

Marik awoke suddenly, the morning sunlight dripping through his window and sending bright beams slanting across his colourful, jewel-encrusted room. Marik sat up with a low groan, tugging one hand through his tousled hair with a yawn before falling back against the mounds of pillows, his eyes easily sliding shut again. Rustling sounded from the other side of the door, followed by a short knock. His sister's voice broke through the partition. "Marik? Are you awake yet? We must be in the Throne Room in half an hour."

Marik released a low groan; he must have slept longer than he thought. Forcing himself upright once more, Marik washed quickly and pulled on his ceremonial white robes, glaring distastefully at them before pulling a brush through his hair. Another knock sounded, Isis' tone more agitated. "Marik, please. Don't cause me more trouble today."

"Oh, I'm so sorry to be an inconvenience," Marik spat, unable to hold himself back. He slipped on his gold, adding a band to keep his light hair away from his face before finally pulling open the door, meeting the disappointed gaze of his sister.

"You know I don't see you like that." Isis spoke quietly, her features impassive.

Marik scoffed. "Spare me the lies. You and I both know the situation here, Isis, so don't try and dress it up for me."

Isis shook her head, her long black hair falling down around her features as she dipped her head. "Then let us try and make the best of it, brother."

Marik sneered, stalking past her and exiting the chambers without waiting for her to catch up. _Make the best of it I shall, only it won't be in a way you approve of, sister._ Bakura's scarred, grinning face floated across Marik's thoughts, and he held back a wicked grin. Oh, yes. He would make the best of it indeed.

The throne room was already full of the other members of the Council by the time Marik and Isis arrived, Atem seated on his throne with the scribe Yugi by his side, as ever. Marik wrinkled his nose a little; that scribe never ceased to irritate him. Seto strode to Isis' side the moment they entered, taking her hand and leading her to the other Item holders, leaving Marik to rest against one of the pillars, feeling like a useless spare part. He hated this.

Atem shot Marik one tired look before turning to his Council and speaking. "What news of today, my friends?"

"There is a situation with the Northernmost Oasis, my King," Seto spoke with authority, the Millennium Rod grasped safely in his right hand as he gestured to the map laid out on the table. "Something appears to be clogging the supply, so there is not enough water for the northern quarter of the city."

Atem nodded, a slight frown creasing his brow. "What is being done?"

"We've got guards on the entrance to the Oasis," Mahad's calm tones spoke up. "They are attempting to ration what they can, but the crowds are becoming uncontrollable. I think our only option soon will be to close the Oasis."

A brief flit of sadness crossed Atem's features, but he nodded, his eyes downcast. "If that is the only way to restore order, then so be it."

"Very good, my Pharaoh," Seto declared. "Myself and a number of guards will secure the area later today."

Atem smiled briefly, turning to Yugi, who instantly set aside his scroll to lean in and listen. Marik's stomach roiled. So, just like that, they were going to close the Oasis? What about all the people who relied on it for their water? Taking a step forwards, Marik questioned sardonically, "So, _Pharaoh,_ you will condemn hundreds of your subjects to death?"

Silence fell through the room as Marik advanced further into the light, his arms crossed arrogantly as every eye searched him out. He wasn't intimidated at all by the Council, knowing that they couldn't touch him whilst he was still designated tombkeeper. Marik sauntered closer, stopping just before the throne so that he could meet Atem's tired gaze.

"Do you have a question, Marik?" Seto's voice cracked through the deadened air, his tone quite clearly conveying disapproval.

Marik couldn't resist a snort. "Of course. By closing that Oasis you are cutting off the water supply for a quarter of your citizens – the other Oases do not bring forth enough water to cover the damage. There must be another solution."

Seto's eyes flashed. "If we leave the Northern Oasis open, we will have riots on the streets."

"So ration it out more effectively." Marik struggled to keep his voice flat as he faced up to Seto, hating the way he had to lift his head to meet the other's eyes.

Seto scoffed. "If that was possible, rest assured that we would have done so by now. As it is, we have no choice but to close the Oasis entirely."

"Unfortunately, Priest Seto is correct." Mahad's cool voice washed over Marik, calming him slightly as the magician stepped forwards and laid a hand on his shoulder. "You are right to be concerned, Marik, but we are left with no choice. Our first priority must be the safety of Egypt's streets."

Marik's jaw set, his brows furrowing. "I don't see how taking away one of the most frequently used water supplies will keep the city safe."

"Then leave the running of the country to your betters," Seto ordered peremptorily.

Marik seethed. "You are no better than I, Seto. You have no right to condemn half the city -"

"And you have no right to question me," Seto hissed, his blue gaze searing as it roamed Marik's body. He turned with a sniff to Atem, stalking past Marik, deliberately knocking his shoulder. "Pharaoh, I would strongly suggest that Marik return to his chambers, if he will only cause trouble and disagreements whilst he is here."

"What? You have no right to -" Marik snarled, advancing threateningly only for a gentle touch on his arm to stop him in his tracks.

Isis met his gaze with a stern look. "I'm sorry brother, but Seto is right. Perhaps it would be best for you to go back."

Marik's nostrils flared, his hands curling into fists. His anger only increased at Atem's next words. "If it is the wish of the Council, then Marik will leave."

Marik wrenched away from Isis, fixing Atem with a dark glare. Fake sweetness dripped from his tone. "Well, I shall _always_ do as the Council wishes." Without waiting for a reply, Marik turned on his heel and disappeared back among the chambers, slamming the throne room door behind him with enough force to send the crash echoing through the vast hall. It was extremely satisfying.

Marik paced the corridors, his blood boiling as it coursed around his body, his white robes snapping around his ankles with each furious step. How dare they! How dare they treat him like some piece of muck dragged through the door, as if he wasn't even fit to walk the same ground as them; they had sent him away as if he was nothing. Marik seethed as he strode the busy corridors of the Palace, barrelling past the people with no mind as to who he was running into. He would show them, the Palace scum. Marik would show them all.

Marik's feet led him to the library in record time. As soon as he walked amongst the musty scrolls and peaceful candlelight, Marik instantly felt calm begin to flow through his muscles, his mind razor-sharp. It was time he went to work. The Council meeting would go on for at least another hour, leaving Marik plenty of time to search the archives without arousing suspicion. A grin flitted across Marik's face – Bakura would be pleased.

Picking up a lamp from one of the sockets by the door, Marik began to pace the silent aisles of the library; the place was mostly empty at this time of the day, only a few scattered scribes busily writing or copying from the scrolls, and so Marik found it easy to grab a few parchments and settle down on a table, where he went to work. Finding a layout of the Palace was simple enough, but finding one that effectively pointed out all the exits was a little more difficult. Marik discarded what felt like hundreds of dusty scraps of parchment before he finally settled on one he thought could work; the Palace was mapped out clearly, the various exits marked clearly in blue ink. There were even guards inked in on their various stations. Marik grinned slyly, slipping the parchment inside his robes; Bakura would be pleased indeed.

Quickly scanning through the rest of the documents, Marik placed them carefully back in their shelves, more to prevent suspicion than out of any real sense of respect. He slipped into a shadowy corner, taking out the map and peering at the exits, deciding that he might as well take a look at one of them now – after all, the Council meeting would still be far from over. Choosing a quiet-looking exit over by the Palace temple, Marik pocketed the map again, discarded the lantern and left the library, striding confidently through the corridors. The further he got from the throne room, the quieter the passages became, until eventually he rounded a corner to find an empty stretch spreading out before him, leading up to the Temple. Marik kept his footsteps light as he started down the corridor, his white robes barely moving as he edged along the wall. It was dark down here, the cool air impossibly still; Marik disturbed it merely by his presence. Brushing one lightly tanned hand along the wall, Marik slowed as he reached the end of the passage. He peered cautiously round the corner and instantly snapped back round, his head hitting the wall. There were two guards outside the doors to the Temple.

_Right, that's this exit out, then,_ Marik thought with a low sigh, reaching into his pocket and drawing out the map. He carefully added two new guard positions, taking another quick peek around the corner before sliding the map back into his pocket and starting back the way he had come. Walking more slowly now, Marik's mind began to wander as he wondered just exactly how Bakura planned to meet him later that day. The thief was definitely a master at his trade, and Marik wouldn't put it past him to get a message to him in the Palace somehow, without it being detected; after all, he had left no marks in the desert the day before to show anyone that he had been there. As far as the Palace knew, Bakura was still miles away. It was almost frightening, how effectively he could run loops around the guards.

Marik felt a sadistic enjoyment twist in his gut at that thought. Yes, Bakura was a powerful ally indeed – with his skills and Marik's information, the Palace could hardly fail to fall. Marik could feel anticipation rising in his gut at the thought of seeing the thief again. His presence had been intoxicating, the heat of his strong hands and the mirthful dancing of his grey eyes enough to hold Marik firmly in place, despite the danger he knew he was in. If the Pharaoh or any of the Council ever caught on to what he was doing, Marik knew he would be in serious trouble, but Marik was also absolutely convinced that it was worth the risk. He deserved a chance at a proper life.

Marik soon entered the busier corridors of the Palace, avoiding as many people as he could. The Council meeting must have been almost over, so Marik wended his slow, bored way back to his chambers, relieved when he found them empty. Isis had not made it back yet, then. Marik didn't linger in their shared sitting room, the lavish furnishings a constant reminder of his sister's betrayal, and so Marik headed straight to the door that led to his own room, the thin partitioning wall the only thing that gave him an iota of privacy. Marik collapsed at his desk with a sigh, burying his head in his hands. He was still seething from the encounter with the Council that morning, his fingers curling into fists at the mere thought of Seto's superior expression. Isis had been no better, with her oh-so-innocent eyes and that look disappointment that always creased her brow when she looked at him. Marik's back bristled just at the thought of it.

Well, he was getting his revenge now. As Marik reached into his robes and lifted out the Palace map, spreading it out on his desk, he couldn't stop a sly grin from lighting up his features. Oh, yes. His revenge would be sweet indeed.

A sudden bang resounded through the Ishtar chambers, accompanied by a furious shout of, "Marik!"

Marik cursed under his breath. Seto. Just what he needed.

Stamping was heard from the other room, followed by another shout. "Ishtar, I know you're in here. Get out here now and face me."

"Marik, come out," Isis added, her voice cool. "We need to talk to you.

"Talk _at_ me, more like," Marik grumbled to himself, but he obediently stood up. He slipped the map into one of his desk drawers, buried amongst a bundle of other letters, before making his way to the door and striding out into the shared chamber, his arms crossed and his chin tilted angrily. Seto whirled to glare at him, his sharp blue eyes flashing, and Isis stood by his side with that now-familiar disappointed gleam to her eyes. Marik scoffed, his lips curling into a smirk as he looked between them. His tone was defiant. "What?"

Seto growled, advancing a step closer. "You do not treat us with such little respect. You are invited to the Council meetings out of a sense of courtesy, but if you continue with little displays like this morning, then that privilege will very soon be taken away."

"Oh please," Marik couldn't keep the anger out of his voice, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. "My _little display_ this morning was because I was the only one talking sense. You can't just block off half of the water without expecting some repurcuss -"

A loud slap rang through the chamber. Marik stumbled back, shocked, his hand flying to his now-burning cheek as he turned furious violet eyes on Seto. The taller man advanced, his blue eyes searing with anger as he raised his hand again, his brows furrowing. "Insolent brat. You dare talk down to me?"

"I don't take slaps from those I consider inferior," Marik hissed, his fists balling up as he threw himself at Seto, ignoring Isis' scream. Seto fell back under his assault, but not for long. Long-fingered hands soon clasped Marik's wrists, pulling him back and slamming him into a wall; Marik's eyes watered as pain shot through his back and he crumpled to the floor. Seto stood over him, breathing heavily, his eyes flashing triumphantly. "That should teach a child like you to attempt an attack on a High Priest. Get back to your chambers, and neither Isis nor I want to see you for the rest of the night."

"Gladly," Marik seethed, wincing with every movement as the scars on his back burned. He hated every second of it, knowing Seto's eyes were laughing at his efforts as he managed to pull himself into a half-standing position. Isis fluttered to his side but Marik spat at her, his violet glare dangerous. "Don't you dare try and help me now. This is all your fucking fault."

"Language, Marik!" Seto roared, but Marik's only response was to give him the finger as he made his painful way back into his room.

...

It was bad.

Marik was bare-chested, clad only in a simple loincloth as he examined the scars on his back in the full-length mirror opposite his bed. A few of the scars had reopened at the force of Seto's shove, unpleasant trickles of blood rolling down his tanned skin and dripping in the rivulets of scar tissue decorating his back. Marik winced and hissed, a bottle of lotion in his hand that he clumsily attempted to apply. His every movement reopened the cuts, his shoulder blades sticking out harshly as he twisted and attempted to cool the burning of his skin. Seto was a sadistic bastard.

"Well. You look like you're having fun."

Marik instantly froze. That voice was all-too-familiar, its dark tone bubbling with mirth, but that was impossible, surely? Bakura could not have found his way into Marik's chamber without getting caught . . .

Well, this was the _Thief King_ he was dealing with.

Marik felt a smirk pull at his lips, his gaze fixed on the scars in the mirror as he continued to apply the lotion. "Didn't expect you to show up here."

"How else were we going to talk?" There was definitely amusement in that tone now, and the hairs on the back of Marik's neck stood up as he felt eyes rake over his exposed form. Marik shifted a little uncomfortably, suddenly remembering his undressed state; his fingers tightened around the bottle of lotion in his hand, going to screw the lid back on, only for a warm tanned hand to suddenly snatch it off him.

Marik sucked in a surprised breath when he felt the heat of another body behind him, blocking his view from the mirror. Red fluttered in the corners of his vision as warm, firm hands landed on his shoulders and that dark voice whispered huskily into his ear, "You look like you could use a little help."

"I'm fine, actually," Marik hissed, but his protestations stopped when those warm fingers slid down his back, tracing one of the bleeding scars. Marik went rigid.

A low chuckle ghosted past his cheek, and the hands left his skin. "Relax, Marik. I'm not going to hurt you."

"I bet you say that to all your victims," Marik shot back, but he had to admit that he missed the touch on his back. He started when the fingers returned, covered in slick lotion now as they massaged strong circles into Marik's muscles, forcing the tension to leave them. Marik resisted the urge to groan.

A chin rested on his shoulder, white hair tickling his neck as Bakura snickered. "Well, yes, but you aren't a victim, so it shouldn't matter."

"I'm not a victim?" Marik worked hard at keeping his voice even as the hands moved lower, brushing over every intricate pattern in his skin, sending delicious shivers through his body and leaving burning warmth in their wake. Marik couldn't hold back a shudder.

"Of course not," Bakura snorted softly. "You're my partner. I don't usually pleasure my victims before I murder them."

Marik couldn't hold back a smirk. "I'm your partner. Your equal. I reckon I could live with that."

The hands stopped abruptly as Bakura released a low growl, his fingers digging in to Marik's marred skin, making him hiss and lean back into Bakura's touch. Then Bakura's lips were at the crook of his neck, nipping at the sensitive skin there and eliciting a yelp from Marik. He tried to wriggle forwards only for Bakura's hands to catch his wrists, holding them securely behind his back as he continued suckling on Marik's skin. Marik couldn't hold back a moan this time, although he pressed his lips together immediately after, a little ashamed of how much he was enjoying the thief's ministrations. Bakura chuckled, releasing his skin and spinning him around, catching onto Marik's shoulders to hold him firmly in place.

"Never presume to be my equal, Marik," Bakura chuckled down at him, his grey eyes gleaming as one hand moved into Marik's hair. "It really isn't a good idea to underestimate me."

Marik tilted his head, Bakura's hand warm in his hair, smirk still decorating his lips. "Perhaps it is you who is underestimating me, thief."

"That's Thief _King_," Bakura corrected with a grin, his fingers tugging Marik's head back. "And I know exactly who you are, Ishtar."

Marik quirked a brow. "Oh?"

"You are the incredibly attractive young man who is being a complete and utter tease by presenting himself half-naked right in front of me." Bakura's grin never left his features at Marik's shocked expression, his fingers tangling firmly in Marik's hair, his other hand still placed deliberately on his bare shoulder as he leaned closer. "What's a thief to do, hm?"

Marik's shocked expression never left his face as Bakura leaned down and claimed his lips in a searing kiss. Warmth was Marik's only true impression, a delicious fire that spread through his veins at the thief's every touch, a heat that rose to his cheeks, and blood that rushed to a rather uncomfortable area when Bakura's bare chest brushed his own. Marik came to his senses when Bakura's tongue swiped at his own and he wrenched his head away, trying and failing to step back in Bakura's strong grasp as he glared up at the taller man. "What the hell are you doing?"

Bakura chuckled, his hands lowering to brush Marik's back as he breathed, "I am claiming what is mine."

Marik couldn't hold back a shiver at those words, and he let out a small mewl when Bakura smashed their mouths together once more, instantly deepening the kiss. Marik's mouth was open before he remembered ordering it to move, a foreign tongue working away at his own, producing small yelps and muffled grunts from Marik as Bakura pressed him closer, their skin rubbing together. Marik melted when he was attacked, one warm hand dragging down his back, the other scraping fingers along his scalp. Bakura was incredibly warm, his dark skin searing, and Marik found himself instinctively pushing closer, his lips scouring Bakura's. A muffled chuckle reached his ears as Bakura pulled away the tiniest amount before moving in again, going lower this time. Marik threw his head back when bites decorated his chest, the fleeting glimpse he got of his room enough to wake him up. Marik forced himself to move, his hands catching Bakura's shoulders and pushing him away, darting far enough to just be out of the thief's reach.

Bakura's grey eyes were tinged with amusement. "What's your problem, _Palace scum_?"

Marik's back instantly bristled, his mouth snapping open to shoot off a typically sarcastic response, only for Bakura's chuckles to reach his ear. Of course, this thief was playing with him. Marik's brows lowered as he glared at Bakura, his arms crossed self-consciously in front of his chest as he growled a retort. "You should know better, _desert dog_."

"Know better than what?" Bakura was grinning as he stalked forwards, and Marik found himself rooted to the spot. Bakura's hands were back on his shoulders, caressing, his smirk firmly back in place even as he spoke. "Doesn't really seem like you want me to stop."

Marik pressed his lips together when Bakura's fingers trailed down, running along his arms and leaving goosebumps in their wake. Then lips were back at his neck and Marik couldn't hold back a shiver, his mouth opening automatically even as his eyes remained hard. "My sister is in the next room."

"So we will have to be quiet." Bakura's dark voice vibrated against his skin, and Marik could feel the last of his resistance crumbling. His hands moved of their own accord, gripping the open front of Bakura's red cloak and pulling himself closer, their chests bumping together as Marik buried his head in the crook of Bakura's neck. A chuckle sounded again, and Bakura's hands were suddenly on the back of Marik's thighs, lifting him easily and moving to the bed. Marik hissed when his still-bleeding back met the silk of his sheets but Bakura was on him in seconds, silencing all protests with a kiss. Marik scrambled backwards, his head meeting pillows, the sheets bunching under his fingers, but Bakura followed his every move until he effectively had him pinned, settling between Marik's legs.

Marik sent him one final glare. "You're just going to keep doing this until I say yes, aren't you?"

Bakura grinned and leaned forwards, deliberately brushing his crotch against Marik's as he stole another kiss. Marik hissed and arched, the contact not nearly enough for his growing hardness, and Bakura grinned as he lifted himself further over Marik, purring seductively. "Seems like you've already agreed, to me."

"Shut up," Marik snarled, tugging Bakura back down for another kiss.

The heat was incredible – that was Marik's overwhelming sensation. The movements of Bakura above him as they were both stripped of their few fragments of clothing, the silken sheets against his burning back, the almost alarming blaze of fingers as they trailed down Marik's chest and abdomen, stroking his crotch. Marik arched with a snarl, but Bakura didn't keep him waiting long. The lotion for Marik's back was put to good use when dark fingers entered him, stretching, ignoring Marik's mewls of complaint. Bakura quietened him with another kiss, muttering, "Your sister is next door, remember? I don't think she'd be best pleased to walk in on this."

"B-bastard," Marik gasped, his legs kicking as they parted to accommodate Bakura. Bakura merely grinned at him, removing his fingers and shifting a little. Marik sucked in a breath of anticipation, his fingers gripping Bakura's shoulders, his muscles tense as he awaited what he knew was going to be significant pain.

Bakura sighed, kissing him quickly and growling, "You are going to have to relax."

"I'm fine," Marik snarled, but Bakura ignored him and moved his fingers slowly down Marik's chest, giving his crotch a firm stroke. Marik arched again, his head snapping back in sudden pleasure, and Bakura snapped his hips forwards. Marik groaned loudly and attempted to wriggle away, but the hand at his crotch was moving and he was filled with a haze of hormones, the thrusts wracking his body at the same time. Bakura was inside him and it was alien and strange, but the fingers were massaging him and his legs were being lifted and Bakura was moving out and back in, and Marik's eyes slid closed as he gave in to the sensation. His back slid violently across the sheets, reopening the wounds, and Marik was unable to stop himself releasing a growl. His elbows pressed into the mattress as he lifted himself up, the scars burning, and then tanned hands were winding around his lower back, supporting him as he moved. Marik lunged upwards gratefully, still connected to Bakura as his hands slipped around his neck. Bakura pulled him further onto his lap, his lips caressing Marik's neck as he thrust up. Marik howled when the thief hit somewhere inside him that made stars burst across his eyes and Bakura chuckled, his hands leaving glowing trails as he ran them down Marik's sides. "Quiet, remember?"

"Fuck Isis," Marik growled, moving with Bakura now as he pressed down on his lap, pleased when a low growl escaped the thief's lips. "I have to hear her and Seto all the time." Marik tightened his legs around Bakura's hips, taking control as he lifted himself up before sinking down again. Bakura groaned. Marik grinned, his fingers tugging at white strands as he tilted the thief's face up and caught him in another kiss, their tongues battling, and this time Marik entered Bakura's mouth. Their movements continued, Bakura's fingers winding around the back of Marik's thighs, massaging his tight muscles until Marik hissed and groaned, heat growing as he felt himself nearing the end. Bakura sensed the change and shifted, his fingers sliding slowly around Marik's hips until he met Marik's throbbing crotch. A few quick strokes was all it took. Marik exploded with a long low groan that Bakura swallowed, his lips moving over Marik's as he thrust only a couple more times, finishing himself with a hiss, nails digging in to Marik's hips.

Marik draped over Bakura's body, panting heavily, sagging warmth flowing sluggishly through his veins and filling his mind with a dull, dreamy haze. Bakura moved him slowly, laying him back against the pillows and rolling to lie next to him, unable to hold back a chuckle when Marik instinctively curled up by his side. They simply lay in silence for a few moments, both lost in a warm haze, until Marik blinked his eyes open and moved his heavy bones, half lying on top of Bakura as he rested his chin on his chest. "How the hell did you even get in here?"

"What, is that it?" Bakura's lips quirked in amusement, one eyebrow lifting. "No 'thank you, Thief King'? No 'that was the best fuck of my entire -"

Marik whacked his chest with one palm, his eyes narrowing, a playful gleam still decorating their violet depths. Bakura grinned at him. "No, fine, I'll answer. The Palace is easy to enter when you know where you're going."

"But how did you even know which one is my room?" Marik looked a little disbelieving as he folded his arms under his chin, his head tilting quizzically.

Bakura's smirk stretched. "I'm not giving away all of my secrets."

"You will," Marik growled, twisting and resting further against Bakura's chest. He relaxed further when a tanned hand ran up his back, tracing the patterns of his scars. Marik's eyes closed as he spoke again. "Not much use if only you can get in here, anyway. Good as you might be, you can't bring down the Pharaoh all on your own."

"Which is why I have you to help me."

Marik shook his head, a snort escaping his lips. "I hope you don't think we can bring down the Pharaoh on our own."

"Of course not, idiot." Bakura's fingers wrapped around Marik's arms as he sat up, bringing Marik with him. Marik mewled, resting his cheek against Bakura's shoulder and ignoring his dark chuckle. "Can you not leave me alone for five seconds?"

"Your fault," Marik pointed out with a yawn. "If you hadn't come here, I wouldn't be this tired."

Bakura scoffed. "I thought virgins were supposed to be energetic."

Marik's eyes widened, his jaw falling open as he leaned away from Bakura to meet his laughing grey gaze. "How did you know I was -"

"Please." Bakura shook his head, smirk pulling at his lips. "It was obvious. Not that you weren't very good, for a virgin."

Heat immediately rushed to Marik's cheeks and Bakura laughed, tugging Marik up and into his lap. Golden hair was brushed aside as lips met a tanned neck, and Bakura murmured, "You certainly pleased me, Marik."

"I am not your plaything," Marik hissed, wriggling, but arms tightened around his torso and Marik melted, his forehead resting against Bakura's shoulder.

A dark laugh tickled his hair. "No, I know. You are a willing partner – a rare thing indeed, in the life of a thief."

Marik shivered, curling further into the warmth of Bakura's body. The sun had dipped below the horizon now, filling the room with cool shadows and dimming the bright gleam in Bakura's grey eyes. The thief wordlessly picked Marik up and deposited him on the sheets beside him, removing his long red cloak before wrapping it around Marik's shivering form. Marik accepted it gladly, although it was much too broad for his slender shoulders. He grimaced. "Keep it – I'm putting proper clothes on."

"And I was trying to be polite." Laughter filled Bakura's tone as he recovered the cloak, pulling it back on and sliding his wrap back around his waist. Marik ignored him and wandered to the cupboard, his lower back stiff as he hunted for something that wasn't white – he didn't want to be reminded of his tombkeeper duties just then. He settled on a light purple robe in the end, glad of the warmth the instant it covered him. He was adjusting the cloth about his shoulders when a heat was at his back again, and arms suddenly jerked him back, winding securely about his waist. "So, what did you find for me today, Marik?"

Marik pulled irritably out of Bakura's hold, sending him a dark glare before moving to his desk and opening the drawer. "I found something rather valuable, actually."

Bakura lifted a quizzical eyebrow, his arms crossed arrogantly in front of him and Marik grinned as he pulled out the parchment, turning to face Bakura with chin lifted. "I think you'll be rather pleased."

Bakura extended a hand and Marik grinned cheekily. "Ask nicely."

"Insufferable brat." Bakura closed the distance in two strides, easily sweeping Marik off his feet, ignoring his yelp. The parchment was soon wrenched out of his hand and Marik was dropped, landing on his aching backside. Marik hissed in pain, sending a dark glare to the thief.

"Bastard."

"Language, Marik." Bakura shot him a grin before turning his attention back to the map, a satisfied expression spreading across his features. "Yes, this will do nicely. Who is in charge of the guards?"

Marik blinked, pulling himself upright again with a wince. "I ... don't actually know."

"Well, that's your next job then." Bakura flashed him another smirk, the parchment folding beneath his fingers as he crumpled it carelessly. "Honestly, I expected better."

Marik growled at him, lunging across the room and snatching the parchment back. "Don't crumple it. You'll ruin it."

"Gods, you really are a piece of Palace scum." Bakura jumped back at Marik's feral snarl, his features creased in laughter.

Marik hissed at him, folding the map carefully and sliding it back into his drawer, burying it amongst insignificant letters. "Get the hell out of here, thief, before my sister catches you."

"You want me to leave so soon?" Bakura's tone was teasing again as he advanced, his warm hands cupping the back of Marik's neck and tilting his head up. "And here I thought I'd be asked to stay the night."

Marik ignored the shudder that rolled down his spine, instead settling on a glare as he met Bakura's grey gaze. "As if. A desert dog like you does not sleep in the Palace."

Bakura's smirk widened, his eyes glinting dangerously as he leaned down. His lips brushed Marik's forehead as he whispered, "Just don't forget that you're dealing with the Thief King," before his hands left Marik and he was gone, disappearing out of the window as silently as he had arrived.

Marik stood in shock for a moment, gazing at the empty space where the thief had just been standing, until a voice from the other room interrupted his musings.

"Marik! Come out of there – the evening meal is almost ready."

Marik turned with one last glare out of the window, walking as calmly as he could over to his bedroom door. It slammed shut behind him, leaving the room to darkness, cold, and shadows.

**That's it for now. As I said, next chapter should be out on Sunday. I hope you liked! - Jem**


	3. Chapter 3

**Here is your Sunday update! Sorry it's rather late in the day. Hope you enjoy! XD - Jem**

The note was carefully placed on Marik's desk, the early morning sunlight alighting gradually upon the scrap of rough parchment. It was old and yellow, flaked, and whenever Marik picked it up small rivulets of old dust drifted daintily through the air, setting him to sneezing and causing him to hold the stupid thing at arm's length wherever possible.

It wasn't even a proper note; that's what irritated Marik more than anything. Scrawled in a rough hand, the language so bad it made his well-trained muscles wince, the sprawling glyphs informed Marik that he would be contacted that day by a certain well-known thief, and said well-known thief would show up unannounced and unexpected, so it would be best if Marik was ready to receive him at any time.

_Arrogant bastard_, Marik thought to himself faux-angrily as he strode through the corridors of the Palace, his hated white robes snapping at his heels. There was another Council meeting going on but Marik had deliberately avoided it, refusing to leave his soft sheets in the morning when Isis had first called him. She had ordered, pleaded, and downright _begged_ in her efforts to get her brother out of bed and into the Palace but Marik had steadfastly ignored her, preferring to turn his thoughts and efforts to his new, much more exciting project. Atem would not be Pharaoh for much longer; of that, Marik was certain.

Marik hadn't slept well the night before, his thoughts constantly running away with themselves, always in the direction of that insufferable Thief King. White hair and grey eyes plagued Marik's dreams, the feeling of warmth and movement surrounding him, filling him, a constant memory buzzing away in the back of his mind. Marik both cursed and adored Bakura for making him feel such indescribable pleasure. When he awoke the next day with gritty eyes and a sore back, however, it was mostly cursing that filled the air around him, and things were just helped merrily on their way to hell when that cursed note lay slyly in wait on Marik's desk, for him to peruse at his leisure. Marik almost screamed when he first read it.

_Bastard,_ Marik continued to seethe as he paced purposefully through the corridors of the Palace. No doubt Bakura had _deliberately_ written that note in such an infuriating manner, taking some sort of sick delight in keeping Marik on his toes all day; the imminent arrival of Bakura was enough to make anyone nervous, but after the results of their last meeting Marik found himself caught somewhere between anticipation, anxiety, and anger. _Fucking desert dog._

Still, Marik would not waste the time he had to spend waiting for Bakura to show up. He was planning to discover who it was that took charge of the guards; they would be responsible for all the Palace security, so if Marik could get to them, then the fall of the Palace should run much smoother when the time came to finally unseat the Pharaoh. Marik chewed his lip as he continued through the halls – he would need to speak to Bakura about exactly what their plan was going to be, whenever he decided to show up.

Marik soon traced the familiar path to the library, gripping one of the lamps tightly as he made his slow way through the aisles. It was busier today; many students from the Scribe school were littering the shelves, perusing the scrolls at an alarmingly slow rate. Marik almost wanted to tear his hair out in frustration, the lamp in his hand getting heavier by the second. How on earth was he supposed to work when all this was going on?

"Marik! Aren't you supposed to be at the Council meeting?"

Marik stopped, cursing under his breath at the familiar light voice. Sure enough, when he turned around, a short young man in the traditional attire of the Scribes was smiling up at him. "I thought you and Isis were expected in the throne room today?"

"Yugi," Marik greeted calmly, none of his agitation showing through his tone. "I have some business to attend to here."

Yugi nodded, grimacing slightly as he gestured to the hoards of students lining the shelves. "You might have a bit of trouble with that today, I'm afraid."

"I can see that." Marik's teeth were gritted. He forced a smile back onto his face, however, when Yugi frowned at him. "Well, I've got a lot to get through, so I should get to work."

"Of course! Sorry to keep you, I just know Atem was expecting to see you this morning." Yugi backed up a little, his wide eyes narrowing just a little as he regarded Marik. "I'll tell him you were here, though – what is it exactly you're researching?"

_Gods dammit._ Marik tried not to let his momentary panic cross his features as he attempted to think of a legitimate reason to be in here. Anything Yugi knew went straight back to the Pharaoh, so Marik would have to be very careful; if he aroused suspicion, his footsteps would be dogged everywhere, and Marik could not put up with that.

Yugi was still watching him.

Marik smiled brightly, his fist clenching around the lamp. "Oh, Isis wanted me to check up on some of the water rations. She wanted to make sure it was being rationed efficiently, what with the Northern Oasis being closed . . ."

"Ah, of course. Well, I'll leave you to it." Yugi gave a sort of half-bow before turning and heading back down one of the narrow aisles, joining the students of his order.

Marik exhaled in relief. Yugi was an irritating brat, always happy-go-lucky and extremely pampered – he had grown up in the Palace right by the side of the Pharaoh, and it was said that Atem and he were very good friends. Marik felt sick to his stomach when he thought of the easy life they led, knowing full well what the hardships of life outside the Palace was like.

Turning his thoughts to more pleasurable matters, Marik slipped easily along one of the shelves of the vast library, searching quickly through the scrolls as he attempted to discover how the security of the Palace was organised. It took a good few hours of reading, but Marik finally found exactly what he was looking for – a detailed account of each member of the Council, what their Millennium Item's power was, and what their duties were within the Palace wall. Unfortunately, it was a new scroll that was still being added to, and as such was not allowed out of the library. Marik cursed under his breath, but he still pulled up a chair at a desk and read through the scroll's details, his eyebrows lifting slightly. The Council was far more detailed than even he had known, with each member taking responsibility for different cross-sections of society. Isis was in charge of overseeing the supply of food and water, Seto took control of the courtiers, and ... there it was! Mahad was responsible for overseeing the security of the Palace. Marik felt the corners of his lips twitch up – out of all the Council members, Mahad was the one he respected the most. After all, he was the one who had first brought Marik and Isis out of poverty and into the Palace. They owed him their lives. This made things much easier – Mahad was one of the few members of the Council that Marik could actually approach without fear of getting his head bitten off, or looked down upon.

_I'll just pay him a visit once the meeting is over,_ Marik decided, standing abruptly and gathering the scrolls. _It's about time I spoke to him again, anyway – perhaps he can help when the time comes to take down the Pharaoh._ Marik set the scrolls carefully back in place, being sure to steer clear of the multitude of students, before leaving the library. The corridors were quiet, most people busy in their daily routine, and so Marik wandered aimlessly for a few minutes before deciding that he may as well head back to his chambers. After all, there was no knowing when Bakura might show up.

_Insufferable bastard,_ Marik growled to himself as he paced back through the corridors. _He just thinks he can waltz in here any time he likes without getting caught? His arrogance seriously needs to be taken down a bit._ The most irritating thing of all, of course, was the fact that Bakura really _was_ as good as he claimed to be. So far, both times that they had spoken, Marik had no idea of how Bakura found him and found no evidence to prove his existence one he had gone. The note was the only thing that proved he was real, but even that was dubious at best; it deliberately lacked in detail, only giving Marik just enough information to know that Bakura would be returning for him that day. It was necessary, Marik knew – after all, if that note fell into the wrong hands then it wouldn't incriminate anyone – but Marik still would have rather known roughly _when_ Bakura would show up. That thief was a tricky, cunning man, and Marik knew he would need his wits about him when they next met, if he wasn't going to get sidetracked like last time.

Marik felt heat creep up the back of his neck at the memory. Shivers trickled down his spine at the memory of hot flesh brushing his, kisses pressed to his mouth and neck, places where Marik was still marked. He had been sure to wear his hair down and flowing over his shoulders to hide them – the last thing he needed was awkward questions from his sister, or even worse, Seto. Marik snarled when he thought of that arrogant Priest. Gods, he hated him so much.

Finally reaching his chambers again, Marik walked straight through the shared room and into his own bedroom, shutting the partition securely behind him. He went straight to his desk and recovered the map from last time, flipping it over and adding the details he could remember from the scroll he had been reading today – Mahad was the one to talk to about matters of security in the Palace. Marik buried the document back in his drawer and leaned back in his seat, stretching up into the air and feeling his hated white robes scrape against his skin. He hated his ceremonial garb with a passion. It reminded him constantly of his hated position in the Palace, filling him with a self-loathing that ran so deep Marik doubted if he would ever be truly rid of it. Well, he wasn't just going to sit back and accept it anymore. With Bakura as an ally, Marik could hardly fail to succeed.

Spending the next few hours caught in a dream of what life would be like with the duties of a tombkeeper no longer hanging over his head, Marik was startled awake when the door to the chamber slammed and Isis strode into the room, making straight for Marik's door. Marik was hardly surprised when she entered without knocking; in fact, he was almost pleased, as that meant that Seto was not with her. Their eyes met for a moment, Marik not bothering to stand, until Isis sighed heavily and wiped one palm across her brow. "What am I going to do with you, brother?"

"Oh, you've remembered that we're family now, have you?" Marik couldn't help sneering as he sent her a disparaging glare.

Isis merely shook her head tiredly, taking a seat on his bed. "I hope you know that I have never forgotten our ties, Marik."

"Sure," Marik spat. "You just don't act on them."

"Brother, if you're just going to insult me then I will leave," Isis spoke resignedly.

Marik grinned, no amusement in the action. "Good. Then I can get some peace."

"Marik." Isis' tone was instantly disapproving, but when she caught his dark glare she raised her hands, faux-submissive. "Alright, I will leave you be. I actually just came to make sure you were alright – you seemed rather distracted this morning."

"I'm fine," Marik ground through gritted teeth. "You can go now."

Isis merely sighed before turning away. "I'll be in my chamber if you need me."

Marik watched her out of the room, his burning violet eyes betraying his anger. Every encounter with his sister ended sourly now – she wanted to do her best by the Pharaoh, and Marik wanted everything but. It pained him to see how easily she had been taken in.

Still, her return meant that the Council meeting was over, so Marik gathered his wits and rose, exiting their chambers without bothering to tell Isis where he was going. Mahad lived in the Magicians' school, so Marik had to leave the Palace and cross a part of the city to get to it. He strode quickly through the streets, avoiding the stares he always attracted – blond Egyptians were rare enough, but add to that his obviously expensive clothing and his white tombkeeper robes and Marik never failed to attract attention when he was out in the city. He ignored the stares as best he could, though, as he wound the familiar path to Mahad's chambers.

The magician greeted him calmly at the door to his rooms, letting him in with a small smile. "Marik. We didn't see you at the meeting this morning."

"I had some things to look up in the library," Marik answered as he followed his previous master through the familiar corridors, soon reaching a friendly sitting room. Mahad gestured to a sofa, seating himself opposite Marik and turning his calm gaze on the young tombkeeper. "So, what has brought you to my door, Marik? I trust that you are well."

"Yes, I'm fine, Master Mahad." Marik smiled, the first genuine smile to cross his lips in months. Speaking with the magician always helped to calm him down. "I actually wanted to talk to you about the security – I heard somewhere that you are in charge of it?"

Mahad's brows furrowed slightly. "Well, yes, I am, but why on earth would you be interested in that? Are you in fear of your safety?"

"Oh, no!" Marik was quick to refute the statement, slightly flattered by the worry still evident in Mahad's tone. "Nothing like that. Well, at least, it's not me I'm worried for."

Marik's brows shot up. "Oh?"

Marik nodded, thinking fast. "Well, I heard some rumours when I was out in the city that there are some thieves plotting against the Palace. I thought it best to warn you."

"Ah, I see." Mahad looked worried. "Did they say which thieves? It isn't Bakura, is it?"

Marik almost flinched at the name, but he schooled his features into amusement. "Not every thief has to be Bakura, does it? And from the sounds of things it was a group of thieves – Bakura works alone."

"Thank God." Mahad shook his head, his lips curling upwards slightly. "Can you imagine if Bakura had allies? Egypt would be in very great danger."

"Very great indeed," Marik responded impassively. "So much so that you could say the Pharaoh would fall."

Mahad burst into bright peals of laughter. "It is a very good job that Bakura is far away from the city, then! The last reports still have him far out in the desert, no doubt plotting to rob another tomb. You know he desecrated the resting place of Atem's father, the previous Pharaoh? He is a menace that must be stopped."

"Will that ever be possible, though?" Marik asked, no longer having to feign interest. "I mean, what measures are in place to stop him getting into the Palace?"

Mahad sighed heavily. "We do what we can, Marik. Guards are stationed around the clock at every exit and there are people in the watchtowers to make sure no one unwanted approaches, but if I'm honest, one lone thief could probably slip through the cracks."

_And he does,_ Marik thought silently before continuing the question. "That's true, but one thief cannot do too much damage on his own. I assume there are stronger precautions against a group of thieves?"

"Certainly," Mahad nodded. "Shada actually deals with the details more than I do – if you're worried you should speak to him. I merely oversee."

Marik frowned. "But I thought you were in charge -"

"On paper, I am," Mahad explained with a smile. "But in reality, Shada knows far more about strategy than I do. I enlisted his help almost as soon as I realised it would be one of my duties."

Marik nodded with a shrug. "Makes sense, I guess. So I should be speaking to him about this?"

"I would advise it, if you truly think there is something to worry about," Mahad nodded. "He will be in his chambers at the Palace now, but he never stays in one place for long, so I suggest you get going if you want to catch him."

Marik grinned, jumping up to his feet and turning. "Thanks, Master Mahad."

"...Marik?"

Marik paused with one hand on the door, turning back to Mahad with his blond locks falling down around his features. Mahad was gazing at him with a calm intensity, his eyes always seeming to pierce straight through the surface. Mahad's mouth opened, words forming gently. "I do hope you're alright."

Marik suppressed a shiver, knowing that he could not let the magician see any weakness in him; it would only arouse suspicion. Instead, Marik forced another smile onto his face and dipped his head in a respectful bow. "I'm fine, Master."

Mahad nodded, watching with a slight crease in his brow as Marik turned and exited the chambers. He was unconvinced.

...

The Palace corridors were beginning to darken as the sun edged its way towards the horizon, the sky filling with hues of brilliant red and gold, brightening the atmosphere in the ever-lengthening shadows. Marik walked quickly through the corridors, pleased that they were still mostly empty – he didn't want to meet anyone, hoping just to get to talk to Shada and then head back to his chambers. He carried a lamp with him as the corridors darkened, torchlight beaming off the coloured designs painted into the wall. Everywhere Marik looked, wealth spat out at him, and he detested every second of it.

He turned a sharp left, avoiding the throne room as much as possible on his way to the private Council chambers. Shada slept fairly close to Isis and himself, so Marik hoped his visit would not take long and then he could dart back to his chambers.

Unfortunately, it was never to happen.

As Marik passed a dark, narrow passage to his right, a tight grip suddenly wound around his waist and jerked him backwards, another hand slapping quickly over his mouth as he was pulled securely out of sight. Marik instinctively struggled, kicking out with a low hiss as he was dragged into the narrow passage, only for an eerily familiar dark chuckle to reach his ears and a dark voice muttered, breath brushing the back of his neck. "Calm down, Ishtar. Not many people would kidnap you in this gaudy overdone hell-hole of a Palace."

Marik went slack immediately, allowing himself to be pulled further down the passage, the lamp a heavy weight in his hand. He twisted his head to the side, freeing his jaw enough to speak. "Release me this instant, you dog."

"Now, now, Marik," Bakura chuckled, although he obediently let go and stepped back a little, tapping one finger against his chin as he ran his eyes down Marik's form. "None of that."

Marik rolled his eyes, exasperated. "I'm not a child."

"Oh, I know." Bakura tossed him a sly wink, ignoring Marik's splutter. "You really shouldn't be surprised to see me, anyway – I warned you I was coming."

"If you are referring to that damn _note_," Marik responded irritably, crossing his arms as he glared at the thief, "That can hardly be considered fair warning. Could you have been any less detailed?"

Bakura merely chuckled. "Oh, I'm so sorry. Would you like a list of my every action over the past few hours? Or perhaps you'd just like to follow me, then you can keep an eye on my movements."

"It would be all a dog like you deserves," Marik shot back, his brows furrowing.

Bakura growled in the back of his throat, advancing forwards three steps until Marik's back hit the wall. "Don't test me, Ishtar."

"You're moods are so random," Marik murmured, tilting his chin up to meet the thief's gaze.

Bakura lifted a brow, his palms falling onto the wall either side of Marik's face, effectively trapping him there. Marik was immediately engulfed in warmth. "Is that so, Ishtar?"

"Yes," Marik couldn't hold back a chuckle. "Obviously. Whenever I see you, I feel like you're either about to jump me or murder me."

Bakura grinned, his white teeth flashing through the darkness. "Not a bad observation. I, however, know which one I would rather do."

Marik shifted against the wall, anticipation pooling in his gut at Bakura's hungry stare. Grey eyes danced in the torchlight as Bakura settled closer, his hands running down to brush Marik's shoulders as he grinned. Marik lifted his chin to meet his gaze, purple eyes fiery. "Which would you prefer, thief?"

"Well now, that would be telling." Bakura winked before he leaned down, fingers brushing Marik's wrist ever so slightly as he relieved him of the lamp. He set it carefully down on the floor before leaning back into Marik, on hand tangling through his blond lock as he nodded towards the lamp. "You want to be careful with those, Marik. They could do some damage if you hit someone with one."

"Who would be idiot enough to do that?" Marik scoffed, a frown creasing his brow. "And that isn't an answer, thief."

"Thief _King_,_" _Bakura reminded, playfully tugging at Marik's golden locks.

Marik merely rolled his eyes, his own hands moving up to grasp the front of Bakura's red robe; the material was soft under his fingers, as rich as any he saw the Pharaoh wear. Marik smirked. "I heard that you robbed a Pharaoh's tomb. Is that where you acquired such fine cloth?"

"Been doing your research, Ishtar?" Bakura's grey eyes glittered down at Marik, his white hair eating up the shadows that danced around his face.

Marik shrugged nonchalantly, playing with the golden trim on Bakura's cloak. "Figured it's good business to know as much about your partner as you can."

"Spoken like a true thief," Bakura grinned. "I hope you have more to report to me, though. Have you been working hard, my little sneak?"

Marik's back bristled. "I'm not a _little sneak_, bastard."

"Careful, Ishtar," Bakura laughed, tapping him on the nose playfully. "You don't want to insult me too much."

Marik just laughed. "Whatever, _desert dog_. To answer your question, yes, I have some new information for you. I know who is in charge of the guards."

Bakura quirked a brow quizzically but Marik just shrugged, the picture of nonchalance. "Of course, you'll have to give me something in return."

Bakura's smirk grew positively wicked. "Don't tempt a thief, Marik."

Before Marik knew what was happening he was turned around and pressed hard into the wall, his face mashing into the brick as his wrists were caught and trapped behind him. Bakura pressed up close behind him, heat running down the length of Marik's body as darkly tanned hands wandered up his sides, easily brushing under the fabric and caressing Marik's bare skin. Marik drew in an audible breath, squeezing his eyes shut and hissing when Bakura's fingers dug into a hollow between his ribs, eliciting a slight yelp. Bakura chuckled, breath warm against Marik's ear. "Enjoying yourself, Ishtar."

"What the hell are you – Unnnnh," Marik's complaints faded into a low groan when Bakura's lips dug into the side of his neck, teasing the skin with his teeth. Marik automatically tilted his head, his eyes gliding shut and his body tipping backwards automatically, leaning into Bakura's warm chest.

Bakura's mouth continued to tease his neck, being sure to leave a raised mark before pulling away and murmuring, "Now, what was it you wanted to tell me?"

"You're a bastard," Marik snapped, his voice sounding far more breathless than he wanted it to. Bakura merely chuckled and moved him forward, the wall meeting Marik's front once again.

"Talk to me, Ishtar," Bakura grinned into his ear, tongue teasingly flicking the outer shell of his ear. "And maybe I'll reward you further."

Marik couldn't stop the pool of anticipation that shot through his veins, sending a shudder through his body that he was sure Bakura noticed. Better to just get this over with; the thief's hands were still rubbing along his sides after all, which served as incentive enough for Marik. "Mahad is the overseer of Palace security," he spoke quickly and quietly, "But Shada is the one who actually takes care of the details. I was just on my way to speak to him when you felt the need to accost me."

Bakura chuckled, his mouth still teasingly close to Marik's skin. "Very good, Ishtar. And what of the Millennium Items themselves?"

"...What do you mean?" Marik tilted his head, confused.

Bakura scoffed lightly, his hands still exploring the skin of Marik's torso beneath his robes. "Surely you know of their powers. I do not doubt that they play a large part in Palace security. Are you not a magician yourself?"

"Yes, of course I am," Marik shot back, chewing his lip. "...Well, mostly. I never got to complete my training -"

"Oh, I remember," Bakura grinned, his head resting very close to Marik's as he kept the blond pressed close into his chest. "They dragged you off and made you a tombkeeper, correct?"

"Correct," Marik ripped between his pursed lips, instantly going stiff in Bakura's grasp.

Bakura nodded, his hair tickling Marik's neck. "Well then, you should understand enough of magic to know that the Items could be dangerous to us. You are going to need to learn how to remove them."

Marik sighed loudly, closing his eyes and remaining stiff, despite the renewed movements of Bakura's hands. "Are you ever going to arrive here and _not_ give me a job to do?"

"When the Pharaoh is defeated and I sit upon his throne, perhaps," Bakura chuckled, nails scratching Marik's skin lightly.

Marik just locked his muscles, his back aching and his head pounding. He was tired, but it was too easy to relax into Bakura's touch; Marik knew he could not stay here for long. Anyone could walk down here and discover them, and then they would both be in serious trouble. Well, Marik would be, at least – he wouldn't put it past Bakura to already have about five different escape routes planned.

Bakura seemed to notice Marik's preoccupation, for his movements ceased and he span Marik around to face him. "What's the matter with you, Ishtar?"

Marik huffed loudly. "My back aches, I'm exhausted, and I'm on edge because anyone could walk down here and catch us together, in which case _I_ would be in serious trouble, whilst you no doubt would just waltz out of here as easily as you got in. However the hell you managed that."

"Well, true," Bakura chuckled, turning Marik around again and pushing him up against the wall. "At least one of those things I can help you with, however."

Before Marik could question further his white robes were being pulled up, pooling around his shoulders and effectively trapping his arms. Marik struggled for a moment, hissing in frustration, until Bakura was up against his back again and tanned hands were tracing his scars gently, soothing them. Marik instantly calmed, feeling his body relax of its own accord when Bakura continued moving, massaging his tense muscles and cooling his burning skin. Marik allowed himself to sag against the wall, his knees buckling slightly. His eyes slid closed and he had to suppress as low moan.

Then, Bakura's lips were by his ear, whispering to him. "I can read them, you know."

"You can?" Marik's head shot around in surprise, his violet eyes widening when they met Bakura's grey ones. "What does it say?"

Bakura looked mildly surprised, his hands slowing slightly until a mewl from Marik had him moving again. "You don't know?"

"No, I don't." Marik frowned. "I look at them as little as I possibly can."

Bakura shrugged, going silent for a moment before speaking again. "Fair enough. They don't say much, anyway – just that the great _Pharaoh_ will bury the secret to his power in the tomb with him when he dies, and you will be there to guard over it."

"Figures," Marik spat. "The scars are meant to be more a symbol of loyalty than anything. That backfired."

Bakura laughed lowly, continuing to work Marik's skin as his lips found his neck again. "Good job, too, or the Pharaoh would never meet his downfall."

Marik smiled, relaxing further into Bakura's touch. His muscles were beginning to sing of a new ache – a need to have the other close, to be moving with him again in a much more intimate way than their current proximity. Marik's body was reacting to Bakura's every touch, dark fingers leaving burning trails across Marik's skin as he arched back. Bakura allowed him to move, his own grey eyes flashing with lust as they roved over Marik's open face and eager grin. One short step had Marik's back against the wall again, and then Bakura was leaning down to claim his lips in a deep, searing kiss.

Marik arched up into him eagerly, tongue lapping at Bakura's as his fingers gripped onto the front of Bakura's robe, running down the planes of muscles. Bakura was just as eager, if not more so, his hands wandering down Marik's sides and cupping his backside, bringing them together for one delicious second. Marik couldn't help mewling into Bakura's mouth, his arms sliding up to wind around Bakura's neck as he leaned forwards, flush against him. Bakura kept him pressed close for a moment before pushing him away and turning him around again, slamming Marik face-first into the wall and pressing up close behind him. Then the thief's hands were once again wandering under the material of Marik's white tombkeeper robe, easily pushing aside his undergarments to brush bare skin.

Marik hissed, pushing back into him. He just managed to gasp, "You are not fucking me against a Palace wall."

"No," Bakura chuckled, teeth grazing Marik's earlobe before he suddenly pulled back, all warmth gone from Marik's body. "I'm not."

Marik turned with a surprised mewl, hot and needy and more than a little annoyed. Bakura had gone.

Cursing louder than he probably should have, Marik scoured every inch of the tiny dark passage, realising with absolute certainty that the idiotic thief had disappeared without trace. Very pissed off and more than a little agitated, Marik retrieved his lantern and started back along the corridors, making for his chambers now that it was far too late to visit Shada.

Damn that thief. Damn him all the way to hell and back.

**That's your lot for now! Sorry if there are many typos, it is late and I didn't proof read. ^_^ Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed! - Jem**


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